6110 
C7B6I 


Varsity  verse 
(University  of  North  Dakota) 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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VARSITY  VERSE 


A  SELECTION  OF  UNDERGRADUATE  POETRY 
WRITTEN  AT  THE 


UNIVERSITY  OF  NORTH  DAKOTA 


EDITEX)  BY 
CHARLES  WATSON  BOISE  "08 
PAUL  BARTLETT  GRIFFITH  "08 


"So  here's  to  us  all.  and  the  pink  and  the  green, 
And  to  fair  Alma  Mater,  our  radiant  queen." 


INDEX. 


Page. 

Blizzard.  A— Fred  Larson,  '04,  '05 18 

Burns  Study,  A— Fred  Duggan,  '99 22 

College  Girl,  The 6 

Doris — Mary  Brennan,  '03 30 

Dorothy  Dee — E.  Leigh  Mudge 36 

Enjoyment — .1.  A.  J 24 

Envoy   17 

Eternal  Question,  The — Mary  Brennan,  '03 27 

Football  Boy,  The— Beatrice  Helmer,  '07 41 

Hash— V.  Stefansson  11 

Her  Father's  Perplexity — William  Ronald  White,  '11 . 43 

Hidden    5 

Home  Sweet  Home  Waltz,  The — Harold  Pease 15 

In  Arcady — Mary  Brennan,  '03 29 

In  President's  Class — Fred  Duggan,  '99 19 

Man  ^Vho  Flunks,  The— Henry  G.  Lykken,  '05 31 

My  First  Love — Henry  Devaney,  '04,  '05 8 

My  Lot— Daniel  V.  Brennan,  '08 45 

Ode  to  the  Meadov;  Lark— Fred  Duggan,  '99 21 

Paradise  Lost — Robert  H.  Montgomery 34 

Philosophy  at  Twenty — V.  Stefansson 9 

Point  of  View,  The— E.  Leigh  Mudge 37 

Sad  Wooing,  A 16 

Song  of  the  Mocking  Bird,  The — E.  Leigh  Mudge 39 

Song,  A— Charles  W.  Boise,  '08 46 

Sonnet    26 

Stanza  A,  The  Ocean— Fred  Duggan,  '99 23 

Third  Floor  Man,  The — Robert  H.  Montgomery 32 

Thorns  and  Roses — Alphonso  Karr 10 

To  a  Brother — Mary  Brennan,  '03 30 

To  the  University  of  North  Dakota — E.  Leigh  Mudge 40 

To  R.  S.— Mary  Brennan,  '03 ...^.j. 28 

Triolets— "Sanna  Kop" TN 25 

Vice — Harold  Pease  14 

Was  1st  Das?— Skuli  Skulason,  '01,  '03 7 

Whitman — V.  Stefansson   13 


F/V 


PREFACE. 


This  modest  little  collection  of  verses  written  by 
students  of  the  University  of  North  Dakota,  is  pub- 
lished with  tAvo  puiT)Oses  in  mind:  first,  to  stimulate 
interest  in  college  verse  at  the  University,  and,  second, 
to  preserve  in  convenient  form  the  best  of  what  has 
already  been  written.  Although  most  college  verse 
may  hardly  be  classed  as  poetry,  yet  to  one  who  has 
had  the  fortune  to  have  breathed  the  atmosphere  from 
which  it  springs,  it  is  of  great  interest  and  may  be 
read  with  no  small  degree  of  pleasure.  It  is  one  of 
the  expressions  of  college  life, — ^^a  life  filled  with  in- 
spiration, promise  and  an  abundant  enthusiasm  in 
human  interests,  and  as  a  real  part  of  that  life,  with 
all  its  traditions  and  associations,  it  should  be  encour- 
aged and  stimulated. 

The  task  of  collecting  and  judging  all  the  verses 
written  since  the  opening  of  the  institution  has  been 
a  work  which,  while  of  great  interest,  has  its  difficul- 
ties; and  it  is  not  unlikely  that  some  suitable  material 
remains  undiscovered.  But  the  editors  hope  that  the 
present  collection,  though  small  and  perhaps  incom- 
plete, will  pave  the  way  for  larger  and  costlier  volumes 
to  be  published  from  time  to  time  as  occasion  warrants. 
If  this  results,  one  important  hope  of  the  editors  in 
this  publication  Avill  have  been  fulfilled. 

We  wish  to  make  grateful  acknowledgement  for  the 
kindly  interest  shown  in  the  work  and  especially  for 
the  enthusiastic  co-operation  of  many  of  the  alumni. 
We  also  feel  especial  indebtedness  to  Professor  Squires 
for  many  valual)le  suggestions  in  regard  to  the  material 
collected. 

C.  W.  B. 
P.  B.  G. 
University  of  North  Dakota,  May  5.  1008. 


0»_>  /  jlOhJ 


HIDDEN. 

Over  the  prairie,  far  and  wide 

Stretches  a  mantle  of  glistening  snow. 

Who  Avoiild  dream,  in  the  frost  and  chill, 
Living  things  were  concealed  below? 

"Winding  along  the  river's  side 

With  bare  brown  branches,  the  woods  are  seen. 
Who  would  divine  Spring's  miracle, 

Could  clothe  them  all  in  garments  green  ? 

Stiff  and  stark  in  its  coffin  bed. 

Pulseless  and  white  the  river  lies. 
Again  with  life  will  its  waters  teem, 

Its  waves  again  flash  back  the  skies. 

What  then  is  death  and  what  is  life? 

And  what  are  the  mysteries  they  conceal? 
We  wait  the  Spring  that  will  come  ere  long ; 

Then  all  things  hidden  it  will  reveal. 


THE  COLLEGE  GIRL. 

She  possessed  a  mind  discerning. 

That  was  stored  and  eramed  with  learning, 
And  her  thoughts  forever  burning 

She  could  suitably  express. 
All  her  sentences  were  rounded, 

And  her  words  imposing  sounded; 
I  was  really  quite  astounded 

As  I  listened,  I  confess. 

It  was  rather  an  infliction, 

All  this  verbal  unrestriction, — 
But  her  eloquence  of  diction, 

Each  precise  and  polished  phrase, 
And  the  beautiful  selection 

Of  the  words,  and  their  connection 
And  her  most  correct  inflection, — 

They  were  quite  beyond  all  praise. 

But  I  saw  her  very  lately. 

And  she  did  not  talk  ornately; 
All  that  language  suave  and  stately 

She  no  longer  kept  on  tap. 
She  was  saying  "Bessums  diddums! 

Where  de  bad  old  pin  got  hiddums 
In  his  muzzer's  p'ecious  kiddums," 

To  the  baby  on  her  lap. 


WAS  1ST  DAS? 

In  my  room  I  sat  and  pondered 

O'er  my  German  exercise, 
And  my  troubled  fancy  wandered 

For  my  room  was  very  heisz. 
When  a  strange  word  I  encountered 

I  would  murmur,  ' '  Was  ist  das  ? ' ' 
But  I  didn't  stop  to  find  it 

And  unknown  I'd  let  it  pass. 
Couldn't  read  a  bit  next  morning. 

Couldn  't  answer,  ' '  Was  ist  das  ? ' ' 
And  Professor  sadly  murmured  : 

''I  don't  think  that  you  will  pass." 
Shall  I  always  be  in  trouble? 

Be  forever  green  as  grass? 
Can  I  ever  make  an  answer 

When  they  ask  me,  "Was  ist  das?" 
Shall  I  dying  end  my  troubles? 

Will  St.  Peter  let  me  pass? 
Will  he  ask  me  German  riddles? 

Will  he  ask  me,  "Was  ist  das?" 

Skuli  Skulason.  '01,  '03. 


MY  FIRST  LOVE. 

"When  first  upon  her  face  I  gazed 

My  soul  Avas  filled   with  bliss  supreme; 

I,  dazzled,  stood  as  one  amazed, 
Just  wakened  from  a  wondrous  dream. 

She  would  be  mine !    Ah,  blessed  thought ! 

Nor  end  nor  bound  my  raptures  knew ; 
My  eyes  her  face  each  instant  sought, 

She  was  so  lovely  and  so  true. 

Her  form  was  fair,  each  slender  hand 

A  marvel  was  to  me,  I  pressed 
Her  face  to  mine  in  rapture,  and 

Full  oft  and  fondly  her  caressed. 

But  love,  unburied,  soon  grows  cold, 
And  mine  was  like  the  love  of  men; 

Yet  oft  my  thoughts  turn  to  that  old 
Cheap  Waterbury  watch  again. 

Hftnry  Devaney,  '04,   '05. 


PHILOSOPHY  AT  TWENTY. 

A  feeling  comes  to  my  heart  tonight 
That  has  filled,  since  the  world  began, 
The  centuries;  and  been  the  light 
Of  the  life  of  the  common  man. 
For  love  is  the  law,  the  master  force, 
That  makes  the  world  akin ; 
That  throws  a  glow  over  all  without 
And  mellows  the  soul  within. 

'Tis  glorious,  on  a  world-wide  stage, 

To  wear  a  hero's  crown 

That  shines  with  the  gems  of  mighty  deeds. 

With  the  gold  of  a  fair  renown. 

But  every  prize  this  earth  holds  out. 

Or  has  held  since  the  world  began, 

I  would  renounce,  and  live,  for  a  woman's  love 

The  life  of  a  common  man. 

For  what  care  I  that  the  world  go  wild 

At  the  whisper  of  my  name  ? 

The  love  of  a  woman  my  song  has  sung 

Is  not  priced  in  terms  of  fame ! 

There  is  no  boon  this  earth  holds  out. 

Or  has  held  since  the  world  began. 

That  can  fill  the  place  of  a  woman's  love 

In  the  life  of  any  man. 


But  if  the  prize  of  a  woman's  love 

Falls  not  on  me  or  you, 

Let  us  hide  the  blight  of  a  ruined  life 

In  a  work  that  is  strong  and  true. 

For  those  who  have  builded  earth 's  fairest  shrines, 

And  have  wrought,  since  the  world  began, 

Are  those  denied  a  woman's  love 

And  the  life  of  a  common  man. 

V.  Stefansson. 


THORNS  AND  ROSES. 

E'er  seek  in  things  the  aspect  fair. 

The  rose  has  thorns,  you  dare  complain ; 
To  render  thanks  would  be  more  sane, 

That  even  thorns  may  roses  bear. 

Alphonso  Karr. 


10 


BOARDING  SCHOOL  EPIC. 

Hash. 

I  can  refrain  no  longer !    Lofty  Muse, 

Descend  to  me  on  alban  wings ;  infuse 

Into  my  sluggish  veins  the  liquid  flame 

Of  poetry,  that  I  may  sing  the  fame 

Of  Onions  and  Hash !    Hast  thou,  0  Muse, 

Not  smelt  them  in  my  breadth  ?    And  canst  refuse 

Thy  aid  to  one  "who  for  six  months  has  dined 

On  such  ambrosial  viands  1    Lift  my  mind, 

0  Goddess,  that  my  spirit  wings  may  soar 

To  heights  of  sublime  song  such  as  of  yore 

.Were  dreamt  by  Milton.    Let  the  sweeping  swell 

Of  sound,  deluging  every  dale  and  dell 

Be  echoed  to  us  from  high  heaven's  vaults 

Back  through  the  .azure  deep.    0  it  exalts 

The  little  mind  of  man  to  feel  that  he 

Is  hand-in-glove  with  mysteries  that  be 

Inscrutable  to  all  but  him  whose  soul 

Is  rapt  with  inspiration  and  sees  roll 

The  clouds  of  darkness  off  on  every  hand. 

Cast  your  eyes  hither  and  behold  where  stand 

Milton  and  I,  the  present  and  the  past 

Masters  of  lofty  song,  conjoined  at  last! 

His  theme  was  God,  the  Universe,  and  Man, 

But  mine  is  Hash ;  and  doubt  whoever  can 

11 


That  I — the  later  and  the  greater  bard — 

Choose  me  a  theme  by  far,  yea  doubly,  hard 

To  grasp  and  to  digest  and  understand. 

Where  e  'er  we  look  are  proofs  on  every  hand 

The  world  was  made  for  man ;  but  who  dare  stand 

In  idiotic  boldness  and  declare 

What  Hash  was  made  for?    Earth  and  sea  and  air 

Yield  to  us  traces  of  their  origin. 

But  not  the  oldest  nor  the  wisest  men 

Know  aught  what  hash  is  made  of.     Sometimes  trace 

Is  found,  indeed,  of  garlic  and  of  maise, 

Of  sweet  and  sour  potatoes,  greasy  pork 

That  erst  was  baked  with  beans ;  again  the  fork 

Turns  up  a  bit  of  cabbage,  or  a  crumb 

Of  bread  well  rounded  by  a  Chinese*  thumb, 

A  piece  of  beef  that's  twice  been  through  a  stew, 

And  e'en  some  older  hashes  with  the  new 

In  deft  proportions  blended;  chemistry 

Stands  baffled  at  this  depthless  mystery. 

The  same,  the  endless,  the  eternal  round 

It  sweepeth  day  by  day.    With  it  are  found 

Stepping  the  march  of  monotone  a  few 

Inseparable  comrades — doomed,  'tis  true. 

To  dissolution  and  to  merge  at  last 

Into  the  boundless,  the  unmeasured  vast 

Of  Hash. 

*At  the  time  there  was  a  Chinese  cook  in  Davis  Hall. 

V.  Stefansson. 

12 


WHITMAN. 

Whitman,  thy  rolling  rj'thms  surge 

With  maddened  fury  through  the  shoreless  seas 
Of  human  life's  eternal  tragedies, 
Sinking  their  tone — now  to  a  moaning  dirge 
Of  sorrow,  and  now  raising  it  to  scourge 

The   self-dwarf   littleness   that   shrinks   and   flees 
Before  thee.    Th'  impassioned  mysteries 
Of  life  hrood  in  thy  heart  and  wildly  urge 
Thy  fingers  o'er  the  sounding  harp  that  thrills 
With  all  thy  knowledge  of  the  heart  of  man 
And  all  thy  love  of  nature  and  mankind; 
And  tells  the  firmness  of  the  rock-ribbed  hills, 
The  depths  of  space,  and  of  the  eyes  that  scan 
Those  depths,  and  dream  of  that  which  lies  behind. 

V.  Stefansson, 


13 


VICE. 

My  name  is  Vice,  and  with  my  tightening  grasp 
I'll  conquer  thee.    "With  this  dread  hand  I'll  dole 
Out  poison,  drop  by  drop,  into  the  bowl 

Of  life,  which  thou  must  drink  to  thy  last  gasp ; 

And  in  thy  dying  hand  at  length  thou 'It  clasp 
The  record  of  thy  shame.  I'll  have  thy  soul 
As  now  I  have  thy  heart;  and  thou  shall 't  toll 

Thine  own  death  bell,  and  fasten  close  the  hasp 

Of  thine  own  tomb.    I  have  thee  now.    Thou 'rt  mine. 
All  mine.    Thou  canst  not  break  the  grip  my  hand 
Hath  fastened  on  thy  struggling  form.     A  whine 

From  thee  but  gives  me  joy;  I  draw  the  band 

But  closer  round  thy  soul ;  thy  fevered  breath, 
Grown  faint,  but  shows  the  near  approach  of  death. 

Harold  Pease. 


14 


THE  HOME  SWEET  HOME  WALTZ. 

(Apropos  of  the  Junior  Prom.) 

The  musical  waltz  with  its  wonderful  rythm 
Flies  to  the  head  like  the  fumes  of  old  wine. 

This  subtle  intoxicant,  who  can  resist  it? 

In  effect  like  the  juice  of  the  fruit  of  the  vine. 

Enticing  alike  to  the  swing  of  its  meter 

The  young  and  the  aged,  the  youth  and  the  maid, 

Till  drunk  with  its  nectar, — and  none  could  be  sweeter, 
All  reel  in  an  ecstacy  till  it  is  staj'^ed. 

The  music  moves  faster,  then  quicken  the  motion; 

Drink  yet  of  this  cup  of  ambrosial  wine, 
Drown  all  your  cares  in  this  subtle  decoction, 

And  follow  the  rythm,  nor  stop  to  repine. 

But  listen !     Now  softly  the  strains  of  the  music, 

From  the  Past  to  the  Present  though  far  we  may 
roam. 

Come  memory  laden  from  palace  or  cottage — 

"Be  it  ever  so  humble  there  is  no  place  like  home." 

Harold  Pease. 


15 


A  SAD  WOOING. 

Let  me  picture  to  your  fancy 
A  fair  mairlen  aged  nineteen 
With  blue  eyes  and  golden  tresses,- 
Sad  to  say — a  Freshman  green. 
But  I  have  hopes. 

'Tis  her  second  year  in  college ; 
Many  fellows  have  gone  daft 
O'er  this  pretty,  winsome  co-ed, 
But  at  them  she  only  laughed. 
So  I  grow  bold. 

In  her  third  year  now  we  find  her 
Queen  of  all  the  Junior  Class; 
Even  dignified  professors 
Smile  upon  her  as  they  pass. 
My  courage  droops. 

"When  at  last  a  haughty  Senior 
She  becomes ;  Alas  I  Alack ! 
A  bold  and  verdant  Fresh ie 
Wins  her  hand  out  on  the  track. 
I  AM  SOLD ! 


16 


ENVOY. 

Life  is  a  curious  mixture, 

Full  of  work  and  full  of  fun; 

There  are  hours  of  care-free  pleasure, 
There  are  hard  tasks  to  be  done. 

In  the  world  or  in  the  college 
The  same  principle  we  find, 

Shade  and  shine  are  intermingled. 
Plums  and  prickles,  games  and  grind. 

In  life's  pudding  gentle  reader, 
Whersoe'er  you  thrust  your  thumbs, 

May  Dame  Fortune  smile  upon  you. 
Helping  you  to  find  the  plums. 


17 


A  BLIZZARD. 

The  snow  falls  fast  on  the  Red  tonight, 

And  from  far  o'er  the  western  ranges 

Comes  the  roar  of  the  winds  and  the  hiss  of  snows, 

While  the  air  is  chilled  .and  the  darkness  grows, 

And  the  face  of  nature  changes. 

The  wind  rushes  on  o'er  the  boundless  plains 
With  fury  it  shrieks  and  rages; 
There's  a  howl  of  triumph  and  savage  glee, 
As  it  heaps  up  the  snow  like  the  foam  of  the  sea, 
And  covers  the  scars  of  ages. 

Fred  Larson,  '04,  '05. 


18 


IN  PRESIDENT'S  CLASS. 

Free  trade,  or  protection? 
A  series  question. 
And  full  of  perplexion 

For  minds  young  and  free. 
Why  has  not  the  nation 
Removed  this  vexation 
Of  youth's  recreation 

By  law  or  decree? 

Our  moments  of  leisure 

Are  robbed  of  their  pleasure ; 

They  seem  not  the  treasure 

We  loved  so  before. 
We  are  doomed  to  debating, 
Grand  themes  contemplating, 
Wise  thoughts  excavating 

From  mountains  of  lore. 

Whose  lot  is  the  harder. 
The  first  lucky  soldier 
Who,  leading  the  column, 

Gains  glory  and  power. 
Or  he  who  is  losing 
His  way  in  confusion 
Half  blinded  by  dust  from 

The  thousands  before? 


Ricardo  was  lucky 
In  living  so  early. 
And  likewise  was  Adam  Smith, 
Malthus  and  Mill. 

19 


Their  work  but  reflecting, 
While  ours  is  disecting 
Thoir  man  economic 
Eternally  ill. 

Their  tasks  were  quite  simple, 

The  science  was  little 

And  they  had  no  text  books 

Or  authors  to  fear. 
While  we  have  the  sages, 
Of  all  bygone  ages 
Yelling  forth  from  their  pages 

Their  theories  drear. 

We  are  the  victims 

Of  time's  cruel  dictums, 

Our  labors  are  far  more 

Perplexing  than  theirs. 
The  dust  from  their  stumbling 
Is  blinding  and  numbing, 
Their  shrieks  are  bedumbing; 

We  scarce  hear  our  prayers. 

But  fate  is  too  cruel; 
She  loves  such  a  duel ; 
Debate  it  we  must, 

The  old  question,  alas ! 
From  Walker  and  Hadley 
We'll  borrow  the  medley 
And  try  to  sing  bravely 

In  President's  class. 

Fred  S.  Duggan,  '99. 

20 


ODE  TO  THE  MEADOW  LARK. 

Thy  song,  most  welcome  harbinger  of  spring, 
As  thou  dost  call  so  cheerily  to  thy  mate, 

At  evening's  eve,  hath  a  most  joyous  ring, 
For  it  doth  tell  us  hoary  winter's  fate. 

0  happy  bird!  thou  tell'st  us  by  thy  song 
The  advent  of  that  time  of  happiness 

When  nature  dons  the  cloak  of  her  first  choice 
That  hath  been  off  so  long. 

Thou  makest  merry  in  the  spring's  caress 
And  bidst  us  all  in  happy  tasks  rejoice. 

1  can  not  see  the  pleasure  of  the  fields 

Nor  feel  the  full  of  summer's  joyous  time, 
Yet  all  the  ecstasies  that  spring  reveals 

Are  come,  for  with  thee  naught  but  joy  can  rhyme. 
Ah!  Meadow  Lark,  thy  clear  melodious  note, 
A  herald 's  call  as  from  the  heavens  sent, 

Strikes  joy  unmeasured  to  my  listening  soul. 
Might 'st  thou  thy  life  devote 

To  lightening  hearts  too  much  by  sorrow  bent! 
May  joy  be  of  thy  merry  life  the  whole. 

Fred  S.  Duggan,   '99. 


21 


A  BURNS  STUDY. 

Ye  walks  and  paths  sae  full  o '  cheer, 

Ye  golden  fields  sae  wavy, 
Long  may  your  beauties,  now  sae  dear, 

Grow  sweeter  for  your  Davy. 

'Twas  there  I  spent  those  happy  days 

I'll  oft  recall  sae  fondly. 
And  aye !  'twas  there  I  learned  to  love, 

And  there  I  first  met  Peggy. 

How  mony  happy  days  we  spent 

Amang  our  joys  sae  kindly, 
A'!  Men  that  ca'ed  ye  bleak  and  bare, 

How  could  they  look  sae  blindly. 

For  when  the  evening's  crimson  sun 

Sank  to  his  bed  sae  grandly. 
No  sight  in  nature  could  compare 

Wi'  that  for  me  and  Peggy. 

How  oft  we  heard  the  meadow  lark 

Sing  out  his  song  sae  clearly, 
As  o'er  the  fields  or  by  the  stream 

We  walked  and  talked  sae  gayly. 

And  if  the  cares  of  life  e'er  come. 

That  weigh  on  men  sae  heavy, 
Then  I'll  return  to  your  free  fields 

And  happy  days  wi'  Peggy. 

Fred  S.  Duggan,  '99. 

22 


A  STANZA— THE  OCEAN. 

Ye  mighty  mountains  towering  to  the  sky, 
Proud,  haughty  peaks,  whose  grandeur  can  excite 
In  man  the  thrill  of  awe,  your  summits  high 
Could  sink  into  the  ocean's  depths  from  sight 
And  leave  no  trace — Her  vastness  is  sublime. 
Her  years  are  as  the  sands  upon  her  shore ; 
Her  billows  lash  the  surf  in  every  clime ; 
Below,  vast  continents  her  waves  roll  o'er, 
Silent  as  death  itself,  save  ocean's  reigning  roar, 

Fred  S.  Duggan,   '99. 


23 


ENJOYMENT. 

What  joy  to  wander  by  the  stream 
That  doth  so  smoothly  glide ! 

Thru  many  an  eve  I  idly  stroll 
With  Mary  by  my  side. 

Oh  Cottage  steps,  what  is  your  charm 
That  fills  my  soul  with  pride, 

As  in  the  even  hours  I  sit 
With  Mary  by  my  side? 

Oh,  let  me  wander  down  the  track 

In  quiet-even  tide. 
And  whisper  tales  of  purest  love 

To  Mary  by  my  side. 


J.  A.  J. 


24 


TRIOLETS. 

It  makes  me  so  tired, 

This  eternal  flirtation! 
They  ought  to  be  fired — 
It  makes  me  so  tired. 
I  couldn't  be  hired, 

(This  with  much  perturbation) — 
It  makes  me  so  tired, 

To  engage  in  flirtation. 

It  makes  him  so  tired, 

Their  eternal  flirtation, 
That  he  almost  expired — 
It  made  him  so  tired. 
For  her  face  he  admired, 

(Though  with  much  perturbation) — 
It  made  him  so  tired 

He  broke  up  the  flirtation. 

Sanaa  Kop. 


25 


SONNET. 

As  one  who  with  his  careful  eyes  intent 
Upon  the  rock-strewn  grronnd,  goes  slowly  on 
With  weary,  stumbling  steps,  and  visage  wan. 
And  spite  of  care  strikes  manj''  stones,  till,  spent 
"With  listless  travel,  shoulders  stiffly  bent 
To  ease  their  pain,  he  halts,  and  prone  upon 
The  earth,  he  rests  in  sleep,  and  wakes  anon 
Upon  a  sun-kissed  hill,  in  wonderment ; 
So  I,  when  many  days  of  restless  fret 
Had  passed,  and  sleepless,  torture-laden  nights 
When  even  dreams  did  flee,  and  endless  fears 
Filled  all  the  dragging  moments,  and  regret 
Did  smother  hope,  awoke  up  on  the  heights 
And  laughed  and  dared  to  face  the  dreaded  years. 

Mary  Brennan,  '03. 


THE  ETERNAL  QUESTION. 

"What  is  love?  say  the  Freshies. 

A  net  in  whose  cringing  rose-meshes 

All  sensible  mortals  are  caught. 

What  is  love?  says  the  Sophomore. 
Trouble,  and  doubt,  and  a  dollar  more 
To  be  spent  for  some  trifle,  than  ought. 

What  is  love?  cries  the  Junior, 
Rapture  and  bliss  till  youreloony  or — 
Somebody  else  cuts  you  out. 

What  is  love?  asks  the  graduate. 

A  sugar-plum  which  you  are  glad  you  ate ; 

Meininisse  Juvahit,  no  doubt. 

Mary  Brennan,   '03. 


27 


TO  R.  S. 

The  lily-of-the-valley  gave  you  all  her  drooping  grace; 

The  rare,  pure  loveliness  of  mountain-blooms  was  in 

your  face ; 
And  in  your  eyes  the  quiet  radiance  of  a  spotless  soul. 

And  when  you  smiled,  there  gleamed  the  dim  dream- 
light  of  summer-dawn; 

And  when  you  spoke,  it  was  as  tho  a  gold  mist-wand 
were  drawn 

Across  a  harp,  and  all  the  echoes  caught  in  one  sweet 
sound. 

And  when  jou  died  the  music  of  the  wind  sank  to  a 
wail; 

And  all  the  fiowers  fainted,  and  the  glad  sun-light  grew 
pale, 

While  Love's  heart-moan  of  parting  speed  your  spirit 
to  its  goal. 

Mary  Brennan,   '03. 


28 


IN  ARCADY. 

The  night  mists  are  gone,  love, 

The  sun 's  on  the  dew ; 
Come  out  in  the  dawn,  love, 

I'm  waiting  for  you. 

The  wind's  in  the  clover, 

The  lark's  on  the  wing; 
And  music  floats  over 

The  hill  from  the  spring. 

Come  while  the  breezes  blow  lightly,  my  love ! 
Come  while  the  dew-drops  glow  brightly,  my  lovel 
Hark !  How  the  music  rings  sweeter  my  love, 
Come!  than  the  lark's  wings,  still  fleeter  my  love. 

Come  down  to  the  meadow 

"With  violets  pied; 
Come  dream  in  the  shadow 

Where  violets  hide. 

I'll  heap  you  a  throne  there 

Of  roses  and  rue ; 
And  all  that  has  grown  there 

Shall  blossom  for  you, 

Mary  Brennan,  '03. 


29 


TO  A  BROTHER. 

There  is  a  love  that  has  faith  in  you, 

Let  the  world  say  what  it  will; 
That  hopes,  and  endures,  and  is  strong,  for  you, 

With  a  strength  that  no  hurt  can  kill. 

It  is  a  love  that  asks  little  of  you, 

Only  this — when  your  heart  is  sore. 
Let  the  thought  of  it  somehow  comfort  you. 

Till  you  smile  and  are  brave  once  more. 

Mary  Brennan,  '03. 


DORIS. 

Are  you  sprite  or  maiden,  Doris  fair? 

For  your  smiles  are  laden  with  the  rare,  elusive  lighten- 
ing 

Of  a  jonquil  blossom  brightening 

'Neath  the  sudden,  golden  flashes 

In  the  dusk-dimmed,  summer  air. 

Mary  Brennan,  '03. 


30 


THE  MAN  WHO  FLUNKS. 

(Apologies  to  Dunbar.) 

^e  sit  o'er  our  books  with  our  nerves  unstrung, 

And  work  for  the  honor  roll ; 
And  our  odes  are  sung  and  our  banner  hung 

For  the  names  inscribed  on  the  scroll. 
For  well  we  know,  as  the  w^hole  world  knows, 

That  the  man  for  his  sheepskin's  worth 
Is  the  man  who  digs  till  his  hair  silvered  grows 

And  reads  from  his  very  birth. 

For  it's  fine  to  grow  up,  and  the  Prof's  applause 

Is  sweet  to  the  fickle  ear. 
And  the  man  who  flunks,  in  any  cause, 

Bears  a  name  we  seldom  hear. 

His  laurel  crown's  like  the  ocean  foam 

That  breaks  by  an  unknown  sea — 
For  many  such  heroes  have  oft  gone  home 

With  naught  but  an  F.  or  E. 


'o' 


There  are  galant  men  in  the  losing  race, 

Hearts  that  are  staunch  and  true ; 
And  many  a  man  at  a  slower  pace 

May  get  there  as  soon  as  you. 
For  these  I've  a  song  of  the  selfsame  kind, 

A  quaff  of  the  selfsame  ale — 
An  ode  to  the  Aveaker  heart  and  mind 

Of  the  man  who  is  made  to  fail. 

Henry  G.  Lykken,  '05. 

31 


THE  THIRD  FLOOR  MAN. 

I  am  a  happy  third  floor  man, 

My  life  has  lost  its  gloom; 
I  strut  about  the  halls  at  night 

And  no  one  stacks  my  room. 

The  reason  for  this  marvelous  change, 

And  for  this  chesty  air, 
You'll  find  in  this  veracious  tale 

Of  the  battle  of  the  stair. 

It  happened  on  a  Friday  night, 

About  the  time  of  eight, 
When  the  proctors  were  elected, 

February  eighteenth  was  the  date. 

And  first  the  second  floor  came  up 

To  stretch  our  proctor  new. 
They  came,  they  saw,  but  conquered  not, 

And  made  a  quick  skidoo. 

So  anxious  were  they  to  go  down, 

They  minded  not  the  stair ; 
But  took  the  flight  both  swift  and  strong 

Right  through  the  balmy  air. 

But  when  they  hit  the  hard,  hard  floor 
They  fought  both  fierce  and  long. 

While  shysters  from  first  floor  stood  round 
In  crowds,  a  laughing  throng. 


32 


"We  gave  them  what  they  wanted, 

With  measure  full  and  fair, 
And  hurled  them  headlong  on  the  ground 

Each  time  they  hit  the  stair. 

At  last  they  gave  the  battle  up 

And  said  they'd  have  no  more, 
And  offered  up  their  places  to 

The  scoffers  from  first  floor. 

And  then  the  leader  from  the  first 

Led  forth  his  score  of  men, 
And  rushed  half  way  up  the  stairs. 

And  then  rushed  down  again. 

So  back  and  forth  they  surged  and  fought, 
And  plunged  and  rushed  and  swore. 

And  every  time  they  were  thrown  down 
They  came  right  back  for  more. 

At  length  they  saw  it  was  in  vain, 

They  saw  that  they  must  yield 
So,  one  and  all.  with  one  accord, 

They  left  the  battle  field. 

Oh.  now  we're  happy  on  third  floor, 

No  more  we  live  in  gloom ; 
We  strut  about  the  halls  of  Budge 

And  every  one  makes  room, 

Robert  H.  Montgomery,  '10, 


33 


PARADISE  LOST 
Or  a  Third  Floor  Man  on  First. 

What  fools  they  are  who  waste  their  time 
In  dreamy  hunts  for  useless  rhyme. 

AVho  cannot  e'en  their  temper  lose, 
But  what  they  must  invoke  the  muse ; 

And  when  their  room  is  stacked,  or  worse, 
They  almost  have  to  swear  in  verse. 

A  mortal  such  I  used  to  he 

And  rhymed  about  each  jamboree, 

And  when  at  night  the  water  ran 
I  almost  rivaled  Koppa  San. 

But  now  how  can  I  rhymes  produce, 
How  can  I  lofty  thoughts  unloose. 

Who  on  the  first  floor  lay  my  head 

Amidst  a  crowd  quite  three-fourths  dead. 

No  more  my  room  is  stacked  full  high. 
No  artist's  work  delights  my  eye; 

No  water  greets  my  sleepy  head, 
No  pins  make  live  my  drowsy  bed. 

The  plaster  sticks  upon  my  wall. 

No  rough  house  yet  has  made  it  fall; 

A  silence  as  of  death  prevails 

And  lost  the  sound  of  swishing  pails. 

34 


The  paddle,  glorious  theme  to  sing, 
Has  long  since  lost  its  biting  sting; 

The  dust  lies  thick  o  'er  every  name. 

Whose  dusted  pants  are  known  to  fame. 

My  hand  inactive  long  is  weak, 

My  brain  no  good  except  for  Greek; 

I  now  have  lost  the  way  to  stack 
And  fear  I  ne'er  shall  get  it  back. 

Oh,  for  the  joys  at  any  cost 

Of  that  sweet  paradise  I've  lost; 
That  home  of  noble  thought  and  life. 

That  bourne  of  daily,  nightly  strife. 
Where  every  room  a  castle  made 

And  every  room  a  barricade. 
And  every  man  a  warrior  grew 

And  all  the  arts  of  warfare  knew. 

Robert  H.  Montgomery,   '10. 


36 


DOROTHY  DEE. 

Tell  me,  0  bird  in  the  aspen  tree, 

Tell  me,  0  flower  of  the  clover, 

Tell  me,  O  home-coming,  sweet-laden  bee, 

Roaming  the  fragrant  fields  over, 

Tell  me  if  ever  it  chanced  you  to  see 

Here  in  your  meadows  my  Dorothy  Dee? 

"We  know  her  well,"  said  the  bird  in  the  tree, 

Bee  in  the  heart  of  the  clover; 

"O'ft  comes  she  down  through  the  sweet-scented  lea, 

Seeking  the  cool  forest  cover. 

Bring  you  no  harm  to  our  Dorothy  Dee" — 

Thus  said  the  bird  and  the  flower  and  the  bee. 

Sing,  merry  bird,  to  your  mate  in  the  tree; 
Bee,  seek  the  heart  of  the  clover. 
While  I  shall  find  what  is  fairer  than  ye, 
Dearer  the  heart  of  a  lover. 
"There  is  but  one  that  is  fairer  than  we." 
Answered  the  bird  and  the  flower  and  the  bee. 

E.  Leigh  Mudge. 


36 


THE  POINT  OF  VIEW. 

When  herb  and  grass  .and  purple  heather 
Had  given  place  to  winter  weather. 
Two  artists  walked  the  fields  together. 

One  was  a  cynic ;  life  by  him 

Was  seen  through  glasses  dark  and  dim 

With  all  his  world  within  their  rim. 

The  other  man  could  always  hear 

The  world's  glad  song  of  hope  and  cheer, 

And  see  life's  beauty  through  the  year. 

Said  he :    "Why  let  dispute  be  rife? 

Let  us  unite  in  friendly  strife, 

To  paint  our  favorite  views  of  life." 

His  friend  agreed,  "For  well  I  know, 
In  time  of  frost  and  winter's  snow, 
Real  life  is  only  filled  with  woe." 

Just  then  they  saw  a  slender  form, — 
A  woman,  from  the  fireside  warm. 
Hastening  before  them  through  the  storm. 


37 


They  saw,  but  neither  spoke  the  thought 
The  moment's  fleeting  vision  brought, 
Till  on  two  canvasses  'twas  wrought. 

The  one  was  cold  and  dull  and  grey, 
Grim  Winter  leaped  upon  its  prey, — 
A  thin-clad  woman  on  her  way. 

The  other  was  a  charming  sight; 
A  lovely  girl,  with  visage  bright. 
Turned  to  the  storm  her  footsteps  light. 

The  difference  'tis  well  to  trace; 
The  one  saw  not  the  light  and  grace; 
The  other  man  had  seen  her  face. 

E.  Leigh  Mudge. 


38 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  MOCKING  BIRD. 

You  may  boast  of  the  singer  from  over  the  sea, 
"Whose  voice  tunes  your  soul  to  its  own  melody, 
But  gives  me  the  joy  of  the  innocent  glee 
Of  the  song  of  the  mocking  bird. 

Now  listen !    The  still  air  above  us  awakes 
Into  ripples  of  song — as  the  smooth  water  breaks, 
With  the  fall  of  a  pebble — till  each  echo  takes 
The  song  of  the  mocking  bird. 

A  master  musician,  sweet  mocker,  you  are, 
To  sing  me  so  sweetly  and  bring  me  so  far, 
A  full  thousand  songs  in  your  gay  repertoire — •    - 
The  song  of  the  mocking  bird. 

So  now,  as  I  lie  on  the  grass  at  the  feet 
Of  your  elm  trees,  you  sing  me  your  program  complete. 
Do  you  borrow  your  song?    Whatearel?    It  it  sweet- -• 
The  song  of  the  mocking  bird. 

Then  sing  on,  sweet  mocker,  as  even  draws  near; 

The  sweetest  of  echoes  awake  to  my  ear, 

"With  the  gay  vesper  songs  of  your  boimdless  good 
cheer — 

The  song  of  the  mocking  bird. 

E.  Leigh  TM.id^e. 


39 


TO  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  NORTH  DAKOTA. 

The  masonry  of  other  years  and  climes, 

Grim  castle  walls,  whose  welcome  was  a  frown, 

Bespoke  the  spirit  of  the  earlier  times, 

When  only  granite  could  preserve  a  crown. 

To  better  days  our  favored  land  is  come, 
When  battlement  and  tower  may  resign 

The  chief  protection  of  our  land  and  home 
To  peaceful  ministrations,  such  as  thine. 

Thou,  Alma  Mater,  a  defender  art 

Of  all  the  liberties  within  our  ken. 
A  castle  wall  may  hide  a,  craven  heart; 

Thy  walls  bring  forth  instead  a  race  of  men. 

E.  Leigh  Mudge. 


40 


THE  FOOTBALL  BOY. 

Blessing  on  thee,  sturdy  man, 
Football  boy,  with  cheek  of  tan! 
With  thy  shock  of  tangled  hair, 
Ends  extending  everywhere ; 
With  thy  lean  face,  leaner  still 
In  the  firmness  of  thy  will; 
And  thy  suit  all  brown  and  torn, 
Frayed  and  soiled  and  battle- worn ; 
From  my  heart  I  give  thee  joy, — 
AVould  I  were  a  football  boy ! 
King  thou  art, — the  others  can 
Never  rank  with  thee, — a  man! 
Let  the  dried  professor's  pride 
Wear  his  Homer  at  his  side! 
Thou  art  strong  and  nobly  planned, 
Full  of  good  old-fashioned  sand. 

Oh,  for  football's  painful  pLay, 
Knocks  that  may  a  fellow  say 
Things  he  never,  never  found, 
In  the  rules  good  books  expound. 
Oh,  the  wild,  wild,  tumbling  chase 
O'er  the  fields,  at  break-iieck  pace, 


•II 


"When  a  fellow  never  knows 
Just  how  soon  he'll  break  his  nose. 
And  Avhen  o  'er  the  line  he  bounds, 
How  his  heart  within  him  pounds ! 
And  his  soul  thrills  at  the  sound, 
Of  the  cheering  all  around. 

Bravely,  then,  my  noble  band, 
Live  and  love,  and  show  thy  sand! 
Though  the  football  field  be  soft, 
Though  thou  stumble,  tumble  oft, 
Every  gain  is  for  the  right, 
Stand  thy  ground  and  nobly  fight! 
Every  game  in  cold  or  heat 
Winning  victory  o'er  defeat, 
Battle  for  our  U.  N.  D. 
Work  and  win,  she's  proud  of  thee! 
All  too  soon  they  time  is  passed 
In  the  wide  world 's  field  at  last, — 
Fighting  inch  by  inch  the  line — 
Make  thy  strength  and  virtue  shine ! 
Break  away  from  sloth  and  sin — 
Now  you're  going,  now  you  win ! 
From  my  heart  I  give  thee  joy, 
King  thou  art,  thou  football  boy! 

Beatrice  Helmer,  '07. 


42 


HER  FATHER'S  PERPLEXITY. 

Tears  to  me  our  daughter  Mary's 
Doin'  things  almighty  queer. 

Subjects  there  is  things  which  varies, 
'Cording  to  the  time  o '  year. 

Jist  this  mornin'  comes  a  letter, 
Which  she  writ  down  at  her  school. 

Forty  pages  all  together ; 

Makes  me  feel  jist  like  a  fool. 

Here  she  says,  (jist  as  a  starter), 
' '  Thursday  was  an  ev  'nin '  out. ' ' 

Now  sich  language  from  my  darter 
Kinder  leaves  me  some  in  doubt. 

"What  it  is  that  she  is  out  of 
She  neglects  to  state  in  this. 

Thought  I  sent  some  money  lately, — 
That's  most  likely  what  it  is. 

Here  we  have  about  ten  pages 
Tellin'  how  "in  ev'nin's  glow, 

How  at  dawnin'  track-work  rages, 
"While  the  western  zephyrs  blow." 

This,  I  understand  correctly: 

Knowing  how  that  street  car  wracks, 

And  I  reason  quite  directly. 
"Track-work"  is  to  fix  them  tracks. 


43 


This  here  page  stumps  me  completely, 

She  is  takin'  "campus  lab," 
Hides  her  meanin'  very  neatly; 

She  must  have  the  gift  o'  gab. 

For  I  know  that  "lab"  means  foolin' 
With  them  tubes  and  chemi-kels ; 

Though  I  ain't  so  much  on  schoolin' 
Guess  I  know  what  "campus"  tells. 

Must  be  that  its  grass  she's  studj'in' 
How  to  make  it  grow  an'  sich; 

Or  perhaps  its  'bout  the  killin' 
Dandelions,  weeds,  an'  sich. 

Out  of  these  few  dozen  pages, 

Seems  she's  writin'  poetry 
'Bout  the  "blooms  of  tender  ages," 

And  this  "treegonametry." 

Now  I'm  jist  a  leetle  doubtful, 
"What  to  think  of  all  sich  stuff; 

For  she  says  it's  all  so  useful 
Sorter  leaves  me  in  a  huff. 

Guess  I'll  send  a  little  money, 
And  jist  wait  until  she'll  come, 

"With  her  smile  so  bright  and  sunny, 
AVhich  will  cheer  our  country  hum. 

William  Ronald  White,  11. 


44 


MY  LOT. 

Give  me  a  place  to  live  and  work, 
A  chance  to  be  a  man, 
To  show  men  I  am  one  of  them. 
And  I'll  care  naught  for  else 
But  a  quiet  home  on  a  sunny  hill 
And  one  to  share  my  joys  and  woes — • 
Ah !  one  who  lives  and  loves  and  knows — 
And  then  I  am  a  man. 

Dan  V.  Brennan,   '08. 


45 


A  SONG. 

Come  all  good  fellows  of  the  "U," 

Come,  join  in  jollity; 
For  college  days  are  happy  days, 

From  serious  care  we're  free. 
Then  fill  the  pipe,  lift  high  the  glass. 

And  in  the  smoke  so  blue 
Let  all  join  heart  and  hand  tonight, 

Be  fellows  good  and  true; 
Let  all  join  heart  and  hand  tonight 

For  the  fellows  make  the  ''U." 

And  when  we're  far  away  from  friends, 

When  college  days  are  past, 
"When  trouble  clouds  are  all  around 

And  cares  come  thick  and  fast. 
We'll  fill  the  pipe  and  in  the  clouds 

Our  troubles  all  will  clear. 
We'll  fill  the  pipe  and  dream  awhile, 

Make  distance  disappear; 
And  join  again  our  heart  and  hand 

With  the  college  friends  so  dear. 

Charles  W.  Boise,  '08. 


46 


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